


Apology

by loveinslowmotion



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Haylor, Makeup Sex, Making Up, One Shot, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinslowmotion/pseuds/loveinslowmotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all you need is to kiss and make up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apology

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been asked to write something like this a couple times now and I finally got around to pulling out something decent. I hope you like! xx

 

The fight was stupid. It wasn’t a fight in the grand sense of the word, but rather a… disagreement, of sorts. Nothing major, but enough to upset and make them want some space from each other for a while.

The apartment they shared didn’t seem big enough for the two of them when they were like this. Tension hung too thickly in the air, the quiet after raised voices so stark, almost alarming. Neither of them could stand to linger around ignoring each other as if the other weren’t even there; it was suffocating.

Harry was the one to leave. Without so much as a goodbye, he was grabbing his keys and heading out the door, god knows where to or for how long. Taylor told herself she didn’t care, that she didn’t give a damn for even a second, not when he was going to give her attitude like that.

Harry always came back. Always. Until one day he wouldn’t – Taylor was terrified of the day he would walk out that door and never come back.

Attachment was a wonderful and painful thing. Being together was like – well, it was the greatest feeling in the world. Having someone who listened, who laughed, who understood, who knew exactly what to say and exactly what to do, who was there through the highs and the lows, who could always bring a smile, who was fantastic in every conceivable way – neither Taylor nor Harry could imagine having anything more incredible than the bond they shared. It was a beautiful, awestruck feeling, which made it all the more awful when things dipped south between them. They couldn’t bear to part for good. They just couldn’t, not after they had grown together like they had.

Taylor milled around, unsure of what to do with herself. Her nail polish was beginning to chip to an unsightly state, but she didn’t feel like fixing it right now. She didn’t feel like doing anything. She hated fighting. It drained her, and it was only killing her more that the one person she wanted to curl up with until her mind subsided was the one person she was upset with.

Even both of the cats were asleep, curiously close together on the bed Taylor had neatly made earlier in the day. She cautiously laid down near the edge of the bed – on Harry’s side, since they were occupying the middle and most of hers – just watching them silently, not having the heart to disturb them just so she would have some company. Maybe a nap would do some good: she could sleep off the doubtful feeling in her stomach, look as sweet and relaxed as the two pets next to her, and when she woke everything would be fine again.

It was nice in theory, but Taylor couldn’t sleep with Harry’s scent embedded in the pillow she was resting her head on, a waft of the mix of his shampoo and detergent filling her nose with every breath. There was a hint of the cologne he had been wearing yesterday, too, and she wanted to go back, desperately wanted to go back to last night when Harry had wrapped her up in his arms, kissed her on the forehead and wished her sweet dreams. She wanted to hear him say “I love you” again. What if she never heard him say “I love you” again?

A small stray droplet escaped her tear duct and slipped down her cheek, and Taylor’s hand instantly shot up to her face as she cursed herself for being so stupid. Harry loved her, he was going to come home, everything would be okay, their argument had not been that bad. Occasional disagreements were healthy in relationships; she shouldn’t be so overdramatic about it. She. Would. Not. Cry.

Forcing herself up and away from Harry’s pillow, finding somewhere else to be that didn’t remind her of him was near impossible. Harry was all over everything – there was not a room in the apartment that didn’t scream of Harry’s presence. They had chosen the place together, picked out all the furniture and decorations together, had put sentimental pieces all over. Even if they hadn’t done all that, there was still the memories: conversations, jokes, games, accidents, surprises, kisses, touches, deeds that should not be named. It was all there.

No wonder Harry had opted for getting away.

After a while of aimlessly wandering around like she was lost in her own home, Taylor rounded her way back to their bedroom and took a turn into the ensuite. She avoided looking at Harry’s end of the counter, his part of the convenient double sink ensemble not as cluttered as hers was, and she tried not to think about how Harry would joke around when a rogue lipstick or mascara tube would roll its way over onto his side. She didn’t really want to look in the mirror either, not when she so often caught Harry glancing at her with an adoring smile on his face when they were getting ready in there together, morning or night.

Taylor didn’t particularly want to see herself when she stepped out of her clothes, anyway. She turned to the shower without so much as a peek at her reflection, twisted the knobs and adjusted until she found the perfect temperature. If she couldn’t sleep off her emotions, maybe washing them away would be just as good of a solution.

The water flowed wonderfully over Taylor’s body. It was hot but not scolding, steam fogging the glass and beginning to gather on the surface of the mirror. She tilted her head back and let it rush over her face, the sensation somewhat relieving. As long as she was in here in her own slice of privacy, she would be fine.

Taylor decided she might as well wash her hair while she had the chance, and an unnecessarily thick lather of shampoo left bubbly residue gliding down her body, pooling on the tiled floor before disappearing down the drain. Conditioner made her hair ridiculously smooth to touch, and even when it was long since washed out she didn’t yet get out of the shower. It was warm and calming, and besides, a girl could treat herself to a long shower every now and then.

There was another thing a girl in a relationship could treat herself to in there, but of course that didn’t even cross Taylor’s mind right now.

It crossed Harry’s.

With the sound of the running water pounding down on her blocking out everything else, Taylor didn’t hear him return home. She didn’t hear his footsteps making their way through the apartment’s wooden floors, didn’t hear him pull off his clothes in the next room, didn’t know he had peeked his head through the open door. It was habit that she didn’t shut the door when she was showering anymore, not completely anyway. She had picked it up from Harry, who was so unashamed about everything he did that it didn’t seem to matter who saw what. It’s not like they didn’t see each other baring all on a regular basis, anyway.

It was convenient being able to walk in and out without worry of a locked door, but it was also the perfect recipe for unintentionally frightening someone.

Taylor’s high-pitched scream when the shower curtain was suddenly pulled back was deafening. The unexpected movement had shocked her out of her own world she had lost herself in and she was absolutely petrified, frantically trying to cover her naked body with her hands as best as she could so the perverted maniac who had obviously broken into the house to stab her to death in her own shower wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing her upfront.

Except the person standing before her wasn’t holding any kind of weapon, was stark naked himself, had green eyes blown wide at her hysterical reaction, and a goddamn iconic butterfly tattooed on his stomach. Harry. It was just Harry.

“What the _fuck,_ Harry?!” Taylor sputtered, her hands dropping and her chest rising and falling rapidly thanks to the terror of thinking she was about to be the subject of a real life horror movie.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry promised her as he stepped into the shower cubicle with her, his presence immediately dominating the confined space. They might’ve been of similar height, but Harry was much broader, much stronger than she was. Not to mention that there was just _something_ about him, a warmth in his aura that was utterly magnetising.

“I thought you were a _murderer,”_ Taylor told him, the pair of them naturally moving in closer together. “Oh my god, I thought I was about to _die;_ you scared me so much.”

Harry was trying not to smile in his amusement, pulling her into a comforting hug with his arms wrapping around her shoulders. “You need to stop watching so many of those crime shows,” he suggested, and they both laughed at that. “I’m sorry I scared you, love. I really didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t hear you coming at all,” she stated obviously. She was calming again easily with her arms around his waist, her body snug against his. Her concern for where they stood was near vanished: he wouldn’t be here doing this if they weren’t okay.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologised again, pulling back just enough to look at her properly. “And I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Taylor assured him, but that didn’t change that he had. “You just… I don’t know.”

Harry’s brows knitted. “I just what?”

Taylor wasn’t quite sure what to say. It felt stupid to voice her insecurities that refused to ever really go away, especially when they were standing in a shower, of all places. But whenever there was a rift between them, however small, she couldn’t help those little niggles surfacing and making her worry that one day soon he was going to realise that she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t funny enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t _anything_ enough for him, and then he would leave. She couldn’t express how scared she was of having him walk out of her life for good.

“It’s just… You could have anyone–”

_“Taylor.”_

“I just sometimes wonder why you want to be with me.”

The seriousness on his face as he moved his hands to cup her cheeks had her unconsciously holding her breath. His stare was so intense, his eyes seeming especially green, but maybe she was just imagining that. When he said the words “I don’t _want_ anyone else” it was impossible to believe that he wasn’t telling the truth.

And yet, she still tried to disagree with him.

“But–”

Taylor didn’t get very far with that, Harry quickly cutting her off with his lips pressing to hers. The fervent nature of it took her by surprise – it was a good thing she was holding onto him, because this was not a place where either of them wanted to be stumbling.

When Harry pulled back to say “I love you”, Taylor immediately chased his lips; one taste of him and she was hooked, a weakness she ought to work on if it weren’t for the fact she enjoyed it so much. They kissed with open mouths, wet bodies grasping together, the steady stream of water falling directly above them only enhancing the desire sparking between them. Their conflict was long forgotten – oh boy, was it forgotten.

When was the last time they had shared a shower? God, Taylor could barely remember, it had been that long. Then again, she couldn’t really think of anything other than Harry’s tongue in her mouth and her slippery body rubbing against his right now, so maybe it hadn’t. What did it matter, anyway – _they were getting make up sex._

It was much to Taylor’s satisfaction that Harry worked for the privilege of her intimacy. He kissed and he touched – god, did it feel amazing when he broke away to grab the first bottle of shower gel he saw they had there so he could squeeze some into his hands and caress her all over. He was incredibly smooth and gentle with her; he really cared. He cared so fucking much he didn’t know what to do with himself half the time. Anything he did didn’t seem to encapsulate the enormity of his feelings for her – he could give her a thousand roses and write “I love you Taylor Swift” in the sky with a spectacular fireworks show, but even that didn’t seem grand enough. Taylor deserved the very best, and Harry didn’t quite understand that he was giving it to her in his own way, no fireworks necessary.

For every time Taylor teased him on purpose, there was a handful of times she had done it unknowingly. Like now, how she got a hand on him just because she couldn’t stand having his erection just prodding her like it had been the entire time he had his raspberry gel-scented hands massaging her breasts. Harry squeezed her at the unexpected touch, though what he really wasn’t expecting was for her to not, like, _do_ much. It drove him crazy the way she just casually ran her hand up and down his length two, three times. Her thumb lazily rubbed over the tip – she wasn’t even trying, and her minimal effort had Harry craving more of her to no end.

“D’you– d’you wanna–” he fumbled to say.

“Always,” Taylor breathed seduction, and god, was that information Harry loved to know.

The tiles were contrastingly cold when Harry backed her up against the wall and kissed her eagerly. Through their enthusiasm, they wisely took care when reaching their position. It took a bit of cautious manoeuvring to lift Taylor up and have her legs wrap around his waist as he sunk inside her, neither of them wanting the other to slip and hurt themselves. Taylor clung onto Harry tightly as he pressed her hard against the wall, making sure they were stable before he even thought of moving.

“You’re not going to drop me, are you?” she checked, a touch of unease.

“No. No, I’m good,” he assured her confidently, licking his lips and smiling at her. “Are you okay?”

Taylor nodded, small but quick, and a little giggle escaped her before she leaned in to kiss him again. Harry was still smiling as he returned it, and slowly, with his hands staying securely on the underside of her thighs, he began to thrust into her.

In short, Harry was really fucking fantastic at what he did. If there was one thing that Taylor had learnt in her time with Harry, it was that he lived to bring happiness to others, and intimately he was an overachiever. It wasn’t enough just to kiss her, he had to kiss her like there was nothing else in the world he would rather be doing. It wasn’t enough just to run his hands over her, he had to caress her like he was exploring something delicate and precious. It wasn’t enough just to turn her on, he had to arouse her so much she could hardly stand the amount of slickness between her thighs. It wasn’t enough just to have sex with her, he always, _always_ had to make sure he wasn’t the only one coming by the end of it. And when she wasn’t interested in any of it, he was a man about it, not once pressuring her or making her feel guilty for not doing something she didn’t want to do.

Taylor hadn’t yet quite figured out if Harry really was like that or if she was just painting an over-idolised picture in her head because she was in love with him. God, how she was in love with him.

Clutching onto him, that was all Taylor wanted Harry to know. When she grabbed his face and kissed him intensely, it screamed of the passion she didn’t need to voice with words. It thrilled her when he momentarily stopped thrusting into her so he could focus entirely on the infatuation in the kiss, when he moaned against her lips purely because of that one action. That was power she had never asked for but oh, did she enjoy.

He made her gasp when he began grinding against her. She hadn’t been expecting the friction and she instantly wanted more, trying her best to move back against him as his hands slid up her thighs to grab her ass. Taylor dragged her hands off him and briefly fondled her own breasts since he was unable, Harry’s breath noticeably hitching at the sight. He released a drizzle of something deep inside her and she swore to god that he was about to come just from seeing her touch herself as he rubbed against her. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Harry started thrusting again, steady timing and so fucking forceful with the long length of his cock driving inside her. He felt so… _ugh._ There was no way to describe how good he felt, and yet it was perfectly clear what Taylor meant when she found herself moaning out his name. Harry loved hearing that, and he started moving harder, the slippery thuds they were making against the tiled wall growing louder.

That wasn’t the only thing getting louder. Thank god they didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing them, because even through the sound of the still running water it was very obvious every time Harry gave a snap of his hips. They moaned and groaned without care for how they sounded, only seeming to arouse each other more with the pleasured noises they were both making.

Harry’s breathing was more laboured the closer he got. It was when they were in the middle of a desperate kiss that he suddenly stuttered to a halt, his whole body pressing flush against hers as he was overcome by the intensity of his orgasm. Taylor’s short fingernails dug into his skin as she gripped his shoulders and he sounded almost in awe of it all as he moaned into her parted mouth.

Eager to get her there too, Harry hurriedly ground messy rolls of his hips while he was still euphoric himself, the perfect friction having Taylor tighten around him and release a loud gasping moan. She loved him; he was so fucking brilliant and she loved him so, so much.

Taylor slipped when Harry went to put her down. Her foot glided on the watery tiles and she squealed as she lost her balance, thankful that she had managed one leg stable on the floor and that had Harry there to envelop her in the safety of his arms in an instantaneous reaction. Laughing as soon as she was upright and steady, the pair of them were in fits of giggles, bright grins on their faces over not just her little, almost disastrous, accident, but over everything, over _them._ What a blessing it was to be with someone who you could stupidly squabble with and have everything go back to its glorious normal state in such a short amount of time.

Once they dragged themselves out from the shower cubicle, they dried themselves off with exceptionally fluffy towels, Harry tying his around his waist while Taylor opted for some actual clothing. In nothing but her panties and Harry’s t-shirt (that could probably do with a wash too, she noted), Taylor floated through their apartment in the light daze she always fell into after being intimate with Harry. She could barely recall her hurt feelings from earlier; she felt on top of the world.

As she sat up on the kitchen counter, Taylor swung her legs and twirled a strand of her wet hair around her finger girlishly as she watched Harry drop teabags into mugs while the kettle boiled. It was something she had seen a thousand times before yet she would never tire of watching.

“Stop that,” Harry smiled at her as he glanced at her through his lashes.

“Stop what?” Taylor asked genuinely.

“Being the cutest person on the planet,” Harry laughed, side-stepping in front of her and kissing her smiling lips. They kissed long and giggly, hands cupping cheeks and finding waists, and if there was one thing that was true it was that love was stronger than… What was it they had been fighting about? Oh, _who cares._


End file.
